Candles at the Altar
by StMomo
Summary: Not all Christmas celebrations are happy and bright. Giotto reflects on the year past while engaging in the saddest of all traditions. A gift-fic for Milli-chan.


December 24…the eve of Christmas. The evening was chilly and heavy, fat snowflakes drifted down. It was a night to be inside, with friends and family; it was a night to celebrate and be merry, with everyone anxiously awaiting the next day and the joy that would come with Christmas. But not everyone was inside, cozy and warm that evening. The two men slowly made their way along the snowy streets. They should be inside with their families tonight, sharing in the excitement for the next day but they weren't. They had somewhere to be, something to do.

The heavy snowfall on the ground muffled the sound of their footfalls as they approached a large, stone church. The shorter of the two, a beautiful, well-dressed blond man made his way up the steps that led into the church. His companion just lit a cigarette and waited at the bottom of the steps. He wouldn't be entering the church. Giotto had expected no less, of course, and he smiled at the other man's predictability, the sort of predictability that only came from a lifetime together. It was sort of odd…anyone looking at the Vongola Primo's family would take the man with the most ardent faith as his Sun Guardian. After all, Knuckles was a priest and undoubtedly a man of solid, unshakable faith in the Creator. But he was the most religious – that position belonged, not that anyone else would believe it, to his Storm Guardian, G., the same man who refused to step inside the church now. He'd always been religious. It was through him, in fact, that Giotto had ever stepped foot in a church. But now, because of the lives they led and the things they did, G. steadfastly refused to seek refuse in a church, not even for a second. He joked that the church would probably catch on fire if someone like him ever set foot in it and it was a joke that echoed bitterly of real opinions. To do what he had to, G. had given up his hopes of salvation and his holy faith. God had no place for sinners and murderers like G., or so the other man firmly believed.

So Giotto entered the simple church by himself. He didn't mind being alone though. He liked the peace he found in the church, the simple solace of quiet calm that soothed him like a healing balm. And besides, he had a reason for coming and he wanted to see it through. He approached the altar, his thoughts turbulent. His hand reached into his pocket and pulled out the book of matches he'd borrowed from G. His hands shook as he lit the candles. One, two, three, four, five…he counted, murmuring the names of the five men who were the reasons he was lighting their candles. As he prayed for them, his thoughts were firmly focused on them. Stefano, Givseppe, Dante, Rino, Ottavio…all were good men. All had families and friends. And all were special to him, part of his family as well. And all – all of them were men gone way before their time, killed in service to the Vongola family. A tear slipped out of Giotto's eye. Was he doing the right thing? Five deaths in one year, blood of sons, fathers, husbands spilled on the ground and for what? What was he fighting for? Did he even know anymore?

He stood there, watching the flames on the candles flicker and occasionally splutter in the drafty, chilled church. He knew not how much time had gone by as he stood there, praying and thinking. His heart went out to the families these men had left behind. He couldn't do anything to ease their sorrows but he tried desperately to do the right thing for these men, his men, by supporting their families financially in the absence of their sons or husbands. He'd made sure they'd have a good Christmas and he'd keep making sure they were financially supported – not to ease his own guilt, as had been the sly accusation of his Mist Guardian, but because he had to. It was his fault these men were gone and no matter what he did, he'd take responsibility for that. It eased none of his guilt, nor could it ever. He knew full well his hands were dyed in these men's blood and in other men's, men both of his family and not.

Sighing, he turned his thoughts to happier, more optimistic thinking as he reached up to brush a few stray tears away. He guessed he should count himself lucky that only five were lost and that none of them were his closest friends, his Guardians. He didn't think he could bare it if he lost them. No, they still survived, as did he and he'd have to get used to that fact and go on into the new year. There'd be fewer deaths in the new year; he'd make sure of that.

Whispering one last farewell to his fallen comrades, he turned away from the flickering candles, leaving them lit as a last final salute to his men as he walked out of the church and down to where G. stood. He'd probably stayed too long anyways. Lampo was trying to show Asari how the Italians celebrated Christmas since his Japanese born Guardian had never celebrated the holiday and Giotto could only imagine how badly things could go there. Knuckles was probably holed up in his rectory, Giotto guessed. He'd be leading Mass tomorrow at his small church before joining the other Guardians for Christmas dinner. Giotto wondered briefly if Alaude and Spade would show up. His Mist Guardian was getting more distant by the day and Giotto was worried about him. He hoped Spade did show up, hoped that he'd not object to some one-on-one time with Giotto so that maybe Giotto could figure out what was going on with his ambitious Guardian. He wondered most about Alaude, if the man would show up. His Cloud Guardian was notoriously anti-social. But Giotto thought he would. Despite Alaude not enjoying Christmas, or so he said, he'd show up, he always did.

It would be a good Christmas. The food and the company would be splendid and for one night, there'd be no worry of danger and despair. For one night, they wouldn't be the Vongola Family; they'd simply be _family_, brothers and friends enjoying the merriness of the holidays.

"Come G.," he said as he approached his friend. "Let's go home."


End file.
